


Safe Journey

by Nevijek



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/M, I love them okay, I usually can't ever write canon ships, Nathanos is great, SAFE JOURNEY MY LOVE, Sexy Times, Sylvanas please come back, because who can be sober through BfA, but I got the feels, but not with all the cookies because I need some crumbs for BtD, more drunken writing times, so this is an atrocity, sylthanos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 04:44:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20829614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevijek/pseuds/Nevijek
Summary: What happens before "My Love" — in my drunken mind.





	Safe Journey

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Lina—my one true hoe, for Jojo—creator of the zombie banging oil, and for Bun—because I will mention "cock" in some other fic, someday, in your honor. I love you ladies.

Sylvanas Windrunner seethed. Her victory over Saurfang was hollow in the face of what the old orc had accomplished with his senseless challenge. She had made him a martyr—just as he’d wanted—exposing a sentiment she had carefully hidden for _ they would not understand. _ And how they had proven her right to believe so! The whispers of doubt had already filled the streets of Orgrimmar over her actions. Had they not feared the position of Warchief she would have found herself challenged to mak’gora by some other reckless brute. Yet it had been Saurfang to petition the duel, as she had anticipated, ever the sentimental fool who’d hoped his sacrifice could spare the bloodshed of his people on both sides of the gate_. _ The orc had smiled when she admitted that they were all nothing—thinking he’d severed the threads she had woven with such care. Saurfang died clinging to his pathetic honor, convinced that revealing her for who she truly was had won the Horde, and the Alliance, triumph. Little did he know that he had played right into her plan. 

In the end, he’d won nothing more than time for his soft-hearted people. That fact should have comforted her. She had already seen the possibility and prepared for it, but still, she could not find satisfaction. As she touched the burning cut across her eye—sliced by Shalamayne, Varian’s legendary blade—those cursed words the old soldier had uttered came to mind. Delaryn had said the same and he’d chosen them intentionally. His only weapon against her was using her hatred.

_ You cannot kill hope. _

Hope remained the root of all her troubles; it was like a weed that kept growing no matter how many times she plucked or poisoned it. The weed had spread through the Horde—tangling also through the Forsaken. Sylvanas had taught them about the futility of hope. She thought they had understood the lesson better than anyone because of what they were, but they had yielded to the illusion all the same. She had known at Arathi that they were only dead by technicality, but their souls yearned for the living. They wanted to return to the nettlesome failings that came with mortality. Her rage over their betrayal would not settle. She had spent years honing the Forsaken, sharpening their mindset, and building them up as a force that, in the end, had chosen to serve hope_—_to serve **life.** They had been bewitched by the boy-king’s empty promises and lies. 

_ You just keep failing! _

Sylvanas tore the broken furniture that was scattered at the spire of her former home. Why was she there? Why had she returned to a place that no longer held any value or significance? Why was she drawn to a home that would never welcome her back? Sylvanas did not belong there or anywhere among them. She should not have gone to that place where so many useless memories haunted her_. _

“What?” she snarled—her eyes snapping to the banshees who quietly surrounded her. “Are you angry with my rearrangement of this place? This was _ my home _ and I will destroy it if I see fit! You… all of you… do not belong here! Go! Leave me be.”

The ghastly beings scurried away, hiding behind the few objects that remained erect through time, but they did not leave the room. Her eyes glowed a fierce red as she regarded each one of them. They recognized her and impossibly, she recognized them too. Sylvanas knew their names. She recalled their ranks. She could count what had been their virtues and weaknesses in life. Some of them were not rangers, but mages and others had been neighbors. They recognized her as the Ranger-General, as their fallen leader, and it made her angrier. She howled at them and they trembled before the might of her voice, their wails uniting with hers in a symphony of horror. The walls shook and cracked, but withstood them. Sylvanas wanted to burn the place to the ground—to be rid of it and all that it represented. There was no point in keeping the ruins; no one cared for them—not even her sisters. 

_ Why are you here? _

Sylvanas could have gone anywhere. 

She was free—at last. She was no longer bound to her duties to a faction of shambling corpses or forced to lead fools whose loyalties changed at the flip of a coin. For the very first time since she had died, Sylvanas Windrunner was free to do as she pleased, to chase whatever ends she saw fit, to takeeverything—if she so desired. Yet she had returned there, to the ruins of her former life! Why could she not let go? Why was it so difficult when it had once been so easy? Was she enslaved by her own torment? Would freedom elude her until she had broken the confines of her own spiritual prison? 

“Why do you keep staring?” She turned to the most frightened of the banshees. She had been a promising ranger. Her name had been Derise. She’d sent her to die and Arthas has gladly killed her. “Come here.”

Derise floated toward her timidly. In her clawed hands was a pendant. Sylvanas hissed at the sight of it. She had discarded it the last time she had been there. She had no use keeping a memento from a sister who no longer loved her. To see it again and realize that it kept coming back to her made her hesitate_. _ Sylvanas took the cursed pendant, her fingers closing over it tightly. She could crush it if she wanted, but she did not, and that irked her. She hated that she didn’t want to destroy it in spite of all it meant. For all she had reproached the living for—she too stubbornly clung to something familiarfrom life.

“My lady… you are here.”

Sylvanas glanced over her shoulder to find Nathanos standing behind her. He’d come in so soundlessly that she had not heard his approach. “As expected. You knew where I would be.”

“Of course.”

Nathanos’ eyes held the same anger which filled her as he took in her countenance. Pulling the cowl of her hood closer to herself, she turned away from her champion and marched out from what had once been the common area. Nathanos quietly followed. Outside the breeze was gentle, ruffling her cloak and hair. They both looked at the horizon as the waves curled and crashed into the shoreline. The sun was fading, as everything eventually did, giving way to the dark of the night. 

“What do you have to report?”

“Let me see what that troglodyte did to you.” He touched her wrist, pulling her hand away from her face. “If only you would have let me kill him before—”

Sylvanas snatched her hand away. “It was necessary for it to be this way.”

“We both know this was not your preferred outcome.” 

“And yet we knew it would be the outcome we would get,” she hissed. “We understand the futility of hope, but we cannot ignore the short-lived miracles it can produce. Let them savor their perceived victory. Let them believe their dreams can become a reality. Let them rise together as one like they always do. They believe the cycle can end, but that is one of the lies that the golden-haired boy has offered them. Soon they will understand. And by then it will be too late to regret.”

Nathanos narrowed his eyes. “Those who remained loyal to you even _ after—_” His pause was deliberate. “—they have been chained and imprisoned.”

“I expected no less from them.”

“The treacherous goblin burned all the evidence that compromised him.”

“What a pity he didn’t catch fire while he burned such a mountain of proof.”

“I have a close watch on him just in case he thinks he can make a move now that the Horde is in chaos. As for the rest—they believe they have dismantled your operations. Fools. At least our rangers have been far more convincing than I ever could be.”

“Excellent news,” she said. “What of our champion, Nathanos? Did they prove my trust was well placed now that it matters the most?” 

“I suppose we shall find out,” he scoffed. “If they make an appearance soon—without the Alliance’s Horde—then we can assume they remain on our side. Either way, I have taken the necessary precautions to ensure your safety while you remain here.”

“I will not be here long. You know there are still preparations to be made,” she informed him. “I must ask, why have you always been so displeased with my choice to involve them?”

“They have been part of many battles fought in the name of the Horde.”

“As have we and yet here we are—free from all that bound us to their fatuous ideas.”

“I thought you would be more pleased.”

“I thought the same, yet I remain… displeased.”

“Because of Saurfang’s last trick?”

“No. The orc played his part. Regardless of this outcome, everything marches according to my will…” she said. “It must be this place that messes with my head. The fact that I cannot find the will to reduce it to ashes greatly vexes me.”

“Are you having second thoughts, Sylvanas?”

Her voice remained steady. “Why do you ask?”

“I can see what you hold in your other hand.”

Sylvanas glanced at the pendant. It felt heavy in her palm as if all the memories it contained bore physical weight. Her upper lip curled in contempt. “There is nothing that binds me here anymore. This was fetched by a banshee who thinks it still matters.”

“Then let it go,” he whispered. “Like we have all the rest.”

Sylvanas’ mouth twitched. “Are you _ testing _me, Nathanos?”

His voice grew softer. “You need not posture with me. If there is anything standing in your way that you do not wish to remove with your own hands, then I will discard it for you. Tell me what your will is and it shall be done.”

“No. The end of their lives will be had at my hands. They are _ my _ sisters.”

“So it is they who still perturb you?”

He was not asking the Warchief of the Horde or the leader of the Forsaken or the Banshee Queen or even the Lady who had brought him into the Farstriders when he would have much preferred a quiet life at his farm. Nathanos spoke to the woman who stood before him. He saw her for who she was—with all her flaws and virtues. He saw her pain and felt the jagged edges of her soul. He could sense her hesitation and doubts. He was able to perceive that she was shaken by those blasted memories and he did not judge her for the weakness of that moment. Nathanos did not reproach her for faltering so close to the finish line. He did not blame her for looking back to wonder if everything had been worth it to stand where theydid. 

Years upon years together—in the greatest and sweetest of times, as well as the most terrifying and gruesome moments—had not shaken his devotion to her. He believed and trusted in her. Their vows had transcended death and time; they had absolute and unquestionable conviction in each other. Fate had taken everything from her; family, friends, status, life—but Nathanos was constant. Longing was a powerful emotion whose painful echo yet thrummed through her desiccated body. She clutched to his coat, pulling him closer, needing the friction, needing to drown in anything other than rage and hatred and melancholy. The pendant slipped through her fingers like sand. 

He was familiar and present_. _He had not left. He had not faltered. He had not chosen anyone else. To Nathanos, she was the only route, the only way. 

Sylvanas desperately wanted to make him understand that he was her choice too. Had she not scouted the lands for his remains? Had she not kept him in spite of his deteriorated state? Had she not restored him to have a semblance of the man he had been? Despite her efforts, there were times when he denied that she could possibly be moved by feelings which had existed when they had been alive. 

Sylvanas took his face between her hands and she leaned into him. “I need you to understand.”

His calloused thumb ran across her lower lip. He kissed her cheek, her eyes reverently—as if he was afraid to break her—before his smoldering gaze settled on her mouth. Even in death, he adored her. To him, she was mesmerizing and perfect. Though many said she was a shadow of the woman he had fallen in love with—though she’d demanded terrible things of him in their quest to get there—he still worshipped her. 

Nathanos moved closer, their lips a breathless inch away as his hands began working the clasps of her armor. Sylvanas touched his chest, her palm flat over the place where his heart had once raced. Here, she hesitated. 

His eyes flickered toward her, burning embers of lust. “You doubt _ me_?”

“Is it not _ you _ who doubts me_,_ Nathanos?” She shook her head. “You are all I have chosen to keep from my former life. You are who I have chosen to take into the next. Not because you are an arrow in my quiver, but because I—”

“Don’t.” The word struck her like a blow to the face. “The path is already incredibly painful without having to hear you say those words.”

“Would you have preferred to perish back then?”

“Of course not. I am yours,” he swore against her parted lips. “As I gave myself to you in life, I give myself to you in death. I do not want an existence where I am parted from you. Take me wherever you desire—to hell, to eternal torment, to the hungering dark, but if you tell me you… if you say _ those _words, then I—”

_ ...would have hope. _

“Then let me have you now.”

“We will have company soon if your trust was well placed—”

“Our champion will know to wait,” she said. “Unless you’re denying me because you need a touch of my val’kyr to renew—” He let her feel that what she thought was definitely notthe issue. “I want to have this time with you, Nate.”

He licked his lips out of habit. Sylvanas snaked her hand between them, palming the bulge that grew under the restraint of his pants. That was it. Nathanos kissed her. A rush of turbulent emotions hit them. Gone were the details she had relished about him in life; his warmth, his manly scent, the taste of him, and the fire of his touch, yet she could feel them through the memories which flooded her entire body with scorching want. Sylvanas loved the way he shuddered under the grind of her hips against his. Her pauldrons clattered to the floor. He had quickly worked away her upper armor, knowing every closure by heart, before kneeling to remove the rest. He kissed her inner thigh, running his rough hands up her legs to claim a handful of her bare rump. He rose so that he could help her remove her hood. Nathanos caressed the length of her long, smooth ears, marveling at how they still elicited her pleasure when he did so. 

Everything spiraled out of control when he bit her shoulder, trailing his mouth up to her neck before kissing and nibbling the point where she’d once had a pulse. She gasped for air she did not need, moaning into his mouth when his hands closed around the soft mounds of her breasts. Sylvanas yanked him out of his coat, ripping apart his vest and undershirt, needing to feel him bare against her skin. He grunted when she curled her fingers through his chest hair, tugging and kneading every inch of his frigid skin. Nathanos dipped his head to take her supple breast into his mouth, sucking and teasing with his agile tongue. Nimble fingers pinched and pulled her sensitive nipple, reminding her just how well he knew how to make her tremble in delight. It had been so long since she had given in to such carnal pleasures with him, having forced herself to focus on the war—in many ways denying herself the satisfaction of something so _ primitive_—wanting to overcome the many weaknesses that bound others to life. 

Lust was blissful, but it made her feel alive—it made her miss those days—and she could not fall into the habit of believing she could enjoy those mundane things again. 

Yet Nathanos made her resolve disappear. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she kissed him with all the frustration and sorrow she felt over their cursed existence. He slammed her against the wall, pinning her there as he gathered his wits. Eyes as red as hers glowed with fiery arousal. “Can we have this moment?” 

Sylvanas wasn’t sure if he was asking her or the banshees close by. The corner of her lips twitched upward at his sudden shyness. “Do you still remember the way to my room?”

His brows furrowed. “Are there even stairs left to tread?”

Sylvanas’ laughter was dry. “Unlike then, your lady can _ fly_.”

“I do not recall you taking me with you during any of those special flights.”

“You sound _ offended _ I didn’t take you with me from Orgrimmar, Nathanos.”

“Or Undercity.”

“My, my…” she purred. “How long have you been holding onto such resentment?”

He grunted. “I was worried about _you_.”

“And I told you,” she caressed his thick brows. “It’s only a scratch.”

“I do not like it,” he ground each word out. “That orc had no right to touch you. If he were not dead, I would have killed him. I barely contained the impulse to stab his corpse as it deserved.”

Her arms went around his neck. “Does such a small mark make me look hideous?”

“You foolish woman,” he chided. “You will never look hideous.”

“Then, is it jealousy? Do _ you _ want to leave a mark on this body, Nathanos?” She exposed her neck, watching his eyes glimmer with arduous intent. “Go on, bite me.”

He pressed her harder against the wall. “I will take you without restraint if you keep testing me.”

Her smile was devilish. “Is that a promise?”

“Sylvanas…”

“Mmmm. Have you missed me that much?”

“The time away from you in Zandalar was more than I could endure,” he barked. “The excessive sun, those shit-filled birds flying all over the damned ship, the endless prattling of Gallywix below deck—I nearly slit his throat while he slept—it was all hell. Pure hell, I tell you.”

“Yet you kept your eyes on the prize.”

“Nonetheless, such cruelty on your part should be punished accordingly.”

“What’s this?” She howled in amusement. “I resign as leader and you grow the courage to threaten your lady with punishment over orders you were sent to dutifully fulfill?” 

Nathanos bit her lower lip. “You deserve to be tortured for all I endured. Our so-called champion kept testing my patience more than the Alliance. You sure know how to pick them.”

“Just remember I reward those who serve me well.” She chuckled and nipped at his tongue. “Did you bring the oil?”

“When do I go anywhere without it when I am with you, my lady?”

“Always prepared, I see.”

“Like the _ dutiful _ champion I am, my queen.”

Nathanos pulled the small vial from his pocket and slathered a generous amount on his hand. He slipped his fingers between her folds, caressing the swollen nub with tortuous leisure. She kissed him hotly, openly—to entice him to set a quicker pace against their growing arousal—but he only smiled against her lips, pleased to have roused her impatience. He dipped a finger into her entrance, exploring her crevice with utmost dedication until he moved to her most sensitive spot and hooked his finger against it—over and over—while his thumb circled her clit with rhythmic pressure. Pleasure expanded her being. She arched her back, so close to the pure bliss of her climax that she cried out his name. Just when she was about to shatter into a million pieces, he removed his hands to lick his fingers clean. There was a curse at the tip of her tongue for such cruelty, but it died when he dropped to his knees. 

Eyes never leaving hers, he lifted her leg to place her foot on his shoulder and dove his face into her glistening folds. His tongue lapped at her bud while he worked one finger into her throbbing entrance, then two—stroking her core rapidly, massaging her perfectly, just in the place that made her see the constellations beyond Azeroth. Sylvanas buried her hands into his hair, pushing herself against his face, needing more of the bliss his touch made her feel. He watched her come undone and this time he let her spillover, her moans echoing through the spire, reaching his very bones. Waves of immeasurable pleasure washed over her, bringing her back to those days when she had been able to feel the full kaleidoscope of such a culmination. She slid down the wall, her legs giving under her, but Nathanos easily caught her, letting her sit on his lap. 

Sylvanas looked down at him, positively glowing, almost shimmering under the moonlight. “Sometimes, Nathanos, I long for the days when we could just… _ feel_.”

“As do I, Dark Lady. But when the time comes, there can be no hesitation.”

“There won’t be…” she promised. “When the time comes to part, I want to—”

“It would be better to say our farewells now.”

Sylvanas rested her head on his chest, curled at his side—savoring the small intermission a moment longer. “Have a safe journey, Nathanos.”

He held her tight, placing the softest kiss on her forehead. “Safe journey… my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> You bet Sylvanas rewarded him properly after their sappy farewells, but I have to save the details for another scene, in another story.


End file.
